Chapter Text
“And thennnnn the fucking bastard had the nerve to tell me the fucking panties were actually mine.” Kagome shouldn’t have been drinking.
“What the actual fuck!?” Sango slapped Kagome on the back, a little too hard. Sango probably shouldn’t have been drinking, either. “So, did you finally do it? Cut that limpdick loose?”
Oh, right. Yeahhhh, sure. It was Kagome who cut the bastard loose. Totally her. She hadn’t said yet again that she could forgive him if he promised not to cheat anymore. That would make the fact that he dumped her so much worse, almost like she had been the doormat. Fucking fuck, why was she thinking about how Bankotsu would touch her cheek in the way that made her melt at a time like this?
This was not the time to think about that.
Because she was not a sad sack. She was a pissed off ex, who was absolutely just about to break up with that cheating bastard of a boyfriend of hers before he—uh—broke up with her first.
“Kagome.” It was never good when Sango’s voice sounded like that. It was the pity sound. The sound that meant Sango was going to grab her by the shoulders and tell her that it was okay.
It was not a fucking sound Kagome wanted to hear.
She totally would’ve done it. She would have. If Bankotsu had not first told her that he was leaving her for some whorebag demon named Yura.
Bitch probably led with her tits.
Maybe Kagome needed to lead with her tits.
“You’re thinking of doing something stupid.” Fucking Sango needed to just let Kagome think right now. It was going to be the best idea ever, she knew it!
“We need a hot tub and bikinis,” Kagome declared. Yes, the best idea ever was coming.
“Did you forget that I took you to the pool bar?” Sango drawled, gesticulating at the water around them, at the bikinis that were already on.
“Right.” Kagome probably should have remembered that. Probably why the whole bikini idea was right there for the grabbing.
Because she could grab her bikini. Right then. Literally.
“Hey,” Kagome leaned over the pool bar she was sitting at, calling for the bartender, “Can you take a pic of the two of us?”
She smushed her tits together just enough to make the panther demon bartender stare, then roll his eyes. (What the fuck was a panther demon doing tending poolside? That seemed dumb.)
“Awww yay! A memory of the day you finally dropped the limpdick!” Sango declared, and leaned in when Kagome handed her phone to the guy.
“You ready?” Panther bartender dude took the camera phone and aimed.
Kagome leaned over seductively, and mocked kissing Sango, who mirrored her: two hot friends leading with their tits. Because that’s what two single-fucking-ladies are meant to do.
Birthday collab artwork by nartista
“Here.” Panther bartender nearly threw Kagome’s phone back at her and headed to the other side of the bar to do his job.
“Thank you!” Kagome shouted curtly, but she still dropped a tip on the table.
Never piss off bartenders. Not when they are the ones who supply the alcohol.
“Girls night pictureeeee!” Sango sang, and finished the margarita in front of her in a gulp.
“So… tell me about this Miroku guy,” Kagome offered. She needed to distract her friend, so her friend would not know the massive evil plans she had for that picture. The ones that would only work if Sango was either too drunk, or too flustered, to notice.
“Wh—what are you even talking about?” Sango stuttered, her cheeks turning the color of beets. Flustered it is.
“Ohhh, I see the way he looks at you. Checks you out every time you’re both at the gym,” Kagome purred, happy to see Sango’s stutter only get worse.
Almost there.
“He—he doesn’t even notice me,” Sango grumbled. “And why would I ever want to be with some god-awful player wannabe who flirts more than he—“
Kagome didn’t need to listen anymore. The rant had started. The rant meant distraction. The rant meant fluster. The rant meant…
Kagome snuck a look down at her phone, fumbling with the digits of a number she could forget if she wanted to thankyouverymuch. Sango had made her delete him from her contacts, but that did not mean that his number was deleted from her brain. She had to be careful. If Sango caught on to the trick, there would be trouble.
But Miroku-fueled rants were the best, especially drunk Miroku-fueled rants. (Those two just needed to fuck already…)
And before she knew it, Kagome was done. The message sent to the person who deserved it. She was so smart. And… well, she was so drunk. But the best ideas always came when you were drunk. Everybody knew that.
“What the ever fucking fuck.”
The buzz. At 2-fucking-AM.
Inuyasha wondered who he was going to be murdering. Because 2-fucking-AM was not a time for a text message. Not when morning was only 3 hours away.
Inuyasha never got phone calls.
Fucking fun curse of being a half-demon.
Because phone calls were for friends.
And half-demons did not have friends.
Well, fine. Half-demons had like 2 friends. But both of those friends knew Inuyasha worked at the diner at 6am on Saturdays. And would not text him.
...unless it was urgent.
So he ambled out of bed, to go find the tiny torture machine that kept pinging to remind him that he had a text message. At two fucking AM. From an unfamiliar number.
Yup. Murders were going to be happening. He had ways to find the texter.
Well, he had the phone number of the texter. And even if it was some wrong number bullshit, Inuyasha had ways. Usually ways that involved yelling and threatening the other end of the line with bodily harm.
Dog half-demons could sure as fuck growl nice and threatening when the situation called for it.
This is what you’re missing you cheating asshole
And there was a picture.
Oh was there a picture.
Her hair was black and wavy, haloing her… emerald green bikini, which housed what Inuyasha had to say were some of the most glorious breasts he’d laid eyes on. They were straining against their fabric prison (he sure as fuck would be happy to help break them out…), the nipples under the fabric also made their appearance known, just to make sure that the viewer would have visions of well-bosomed fraulines serving them beer and offering motorboats.
Fuck. His mind really went there.
Her eyes were sparkling brown, and she was sticking her tongue out (Inuyasha wanted to do things to that tongue). Her cheeks were bright pink (probably because of the drink, which was in her hand), and her pretty brunette friend was kissing her cheek.
The girl was almost hot enough that she could be forgiven for waking him up at 2am. She’d been cheated on, after all. And whoever that bastard was who did it… well… fuck that guy.
That almost made it all worse. Eye candy not meant for his eyes as a big fuck you to both the dude who cheated and to Inuyasha himself. Because girls that looked like Playboy bunnies wouldn’t be caught in the same room as half-demons.
It gave him an idea.
Oh yes, he knew exactly how he was going to get her back. For… existing. And for making him want something he could never have. Because the best ideas always came when you were sleep-deprived at 2am.
So Inuyasha waltzed into his bathroom (he wasn’t going to get back to sleep, not now, not after seeing the Playboy bunny on his phone), and he turned on the lights and pulled up his shirt. He perked his ears, just to make sure the fuckers stood out, and he bared his fangs for good measure. Then, he snapped the photo.
And he sure as fuck was gonna send it.
...just not yet.
Birthday collab artwork by nartista
Kagome was dying. That was the only possible explanation for the buzzing in her head. She was dying of dumb, and of alcohol consumption. And…
She should have known better than to open her eyes, what with the dying and all. But her room was still dark. Almost like…
Like it was 6 in the fucking morning.
And the buzzing she heard was not because of the alcohol induced dying, but was instead… her phone.
“Sh—shit…” Kagome whined, trying to move as little as possible but also get to her phone.
She was fairly certain she did something dumb last night.
Something that involved texting someone stupid.
There had been margaritas. So many margaritas. And there were bikinis. (Because Sango had taken them to the poolside bar she’d wanted to go to for so long). And… panther demon cutting her off. And…
Yup. A text message.
Kagome didn’t even want to know. Because if Bankotsu was texting her back at this time of the morning, then it could only mean one thing.
Fucking Yura with her fucking weird hair thing and her fucking weaponized tits. Fucking her boyfriend. Well, ex-boyfriend.
Ex. Boyfriend.
Right. And, if she remembered (god she did), the words cheating asshole were used. Totally accurate words, mind you, but, not her most articulate words… or…
Oh god.
The picture.
The bikini picture.
With Sango and the annoyed bartender that Kagome overtipped.
Okay, so back to the dying. Clearly it was dying of embarrassment that was planned for her. Of humiliation. Of being so stuck on a dude who had been fucking around nearly since the moment she’d met him that she’d send him that picture.
And he was getting her back by texting her after a sex fest with his demon fuckbuddy at 6-fucking-AM.
She almost just deleted the message without looking. That would have been the smart decision. The help-Kagome-get-closure-after-a-bad-breakup decision.
But, she’d already made so many stupid decisions. Why not one more?
I dunno who this was for, bunny, but I’m guessing it wasn’t for me.
Oh. Oh fuck.
221-555-8396 was definitely different from 221-555-8398.
And there was a picture.
She shouldn’t open it. Because it was probably some greasy asshole’s dick, special for her.
Then again, bad decisions, so she opened it.
Fuck.
She didn’t normally salivate when strangers sent her pictures. Especially when they were wrong numbers who texted her back at 6am.
But strangers sending her pictures never looked like that.
The biceps. The abs. The pecs. Kagome clearly would need to check the photo for signs of Photoshop, because no man in the universe looked that good. Men who looked that good were made of marble and sitting in museums waiting to be ogled by tourists. They were definitely not strangers lifting up their shirts in a bathroom mirror and texting her back.
Worst part? The muscles were the tip of the iceberg. There was the silver hair that glowed (clearly a trick of the camera flash), and fangs? Fuck. Kagome wondered if the man ever willingly used those fangs on the trembling flesh of a woman (Kagome was a woman…). But gods, his hotness kept going. His eyes were amber and so intense they undressed her from the picture, and dog ears. On his head. Soft triangular treasures that made her involuntarily rub her fingers to her thumbs, daydreaming about the downy soft fur that probably lined them. She was already starting to feel a pleasant throb between her thighs overtake the crud of her hangover.
So, the bad news first: Kagome had sent a bikini pic of herself to a stranger at 2am. One where she definitely led with her tits. And let the stranger know that the person it was meant for was a cheating asshole.
But… silver lining? (Mmmm, like his hair and… it looked like the carpet matched the drapes—Bad Kagome). The stranger was really, really hot. Like, Kagome would cut off her left tit for a chance to run her tongue over every part of his body hot. And the ‘bunny’ thing (what was that about?) seemed to mean… maybe, just maybe, he’d be open to another message?
It gave Kagome an idea. And the best ideas always came while hungover at 6 in the morning.
“God, it’s like you can’t remember what over-easy means today, dog.” One day Inuyasha would deliver on his promise to turn the snotty red-headed fox demon he was forced to work with into sausage.
“Fuck off, fox.” Inuyasha decided on swearwords to stop the conversation. “I didn’t get a good night’s sleep.”
Inuyasha was underselling the whole I didn’t get a good night’s sleep. More like, he’d been so sleep-deprived that he clearly was delirious, sending that fucking text message back to the bikini-clad wrong number. And fuck him, he’d sent a picture. Of him showing off his abs and his fangs. Fuck he’d called her bunny. It was the stupidest idea he’d ever had.
He was relieved that at least he hadn’t sent a dick pic.
(His dick disagreed. His dick kept telling him to look at the bikini-clad wrong number pic again. And again.)
Inuyasha groaned, looking down at the eggs he absolutely overcooked. Again.
Over-easy was over-hard.
(Like his dick. When it thought about bikini wrong number. Fuck.)
Think of the fucking fox. Think of the fucking fox.
But Shippo’s snarky look kept merging into those pouting lips in the photo.
And Shippo’s obnoxiously bright red hair kept darkening and cascading down shoulders obscured only by an emerald green string.
An acrid scent of burning albumen hit Inuyasha’s nose, which snapped his attention back to the grill.
No more thinking of the bikini wrong number. He’d probably scared her off good and thoroughly. Because fangs. Because half-demon. Because texted a stranger his partially naked body at 6am. It was going to be a morning with a fuckton of burned eggs.
Finally, after three eggs, one was nearly over-easy. Enough not to get barked at by customers.
Enough… to go check his phone just in case bikini wrong number texted him back.
Not that he cared.
Because he didn’t.
Just in case she called the police on him or some shit.
It had nothing to do with hope.
1 message
Fuck, it wasn’t a text message: it was a voicemail.
Who the fuck still left voicemails anymore?
...apparently bikini wrong number did…
Uh, hi. So I was the one who sent you that picture at 2am. I just wanted to say that I am so so sorry! I promise I don’t think you’re a cheating asshole and uh… if you want to, maybe you could call me so I could properly abs—oh um—apologize. I’m free tonight after six. Um. Name’s Kagome. Yeah, so uh. Bye.
Inuyasha kept burning eggs. But when the jagweed fox annoyed him about it, he didn’t fucking care. He was gonna call Kagome tonight.